Pretty Boy
by Peach Creek
Summary: JimmyxSarah one-shot. Jimmy is confronted and bullied for his appearance before he is rescued by Sarah. Rated T for language.


Jimmy sat alone at a table in front of the café. A cup of coffee—two creams, four sugars—sat in front of him, steam rising up prettily into the cold air. The wind swept through his hair. He could feel it standing on end, but it didn't bother him. There wasn't anyone around to see it anyway. It was too cold to be outside. The sidewalk was deserted for the sanctuary of heated shops. The few people who passed by did so quickly, throwing incredulous looks in his direction. The solitude he had almost wasn't worth the biting cold. He watched a mother drag her screaming child into the café and wrinkled his nose.

Almost.

His ears had gone numb and the tip of his nose was pink for sure. He kept it covered with one hand. A knit wool scarf clung snugly to the turtle neck of his sweater. A dark pea coat rested on his shoulders. The stiff sleeves hindered his drawing hand slightly, but it kept the chill out so he wasn't complaining. His hand worked along the page, filling in the empty spaces with half-formed ideas and jotted notes. So engrossed in his project was he that he was unaware that he had company until a large hand snatched the sketchbook from under his pencil.

"Hey!" he protested, making a grab for the book.

The motion brought him to his feet, whirling around to face the thief. Thieves. Two guys, much larger than himself, stood over him. His anger faltered under their amused smirks. His hand, extended toward the book, drooped and then fell to his side. He stared them down, eyes flitting from one to the other, sizing them up. They returned the favor, but where Jimmy's frown deepened, their smirks only grew until they were full-fledged grins.

"Well, damn. You were right. Looks like I owe you five bucks, Mark."

"I told you, Blake."

"Hey, whatever, man. He's the girliest guy _I've_ ever seen. Can you blame me for thinking he was a chick?"

Jimmy bristled, finding his voice. "Give me back my book."

Mark tapped the sketchbook on his chin a few times thoughtfully before shrugging. "Sure, here."

"Not," Blake interrupted, "so fast." His hand caught Jimmy's wrist. As he leaned in, he grinned widely. "I'm not so sure you're not a girl after all."

"Of course I'm not a girl. What are you, blind?" Jimmy snapped. He pulled at his arm, but the grip was too tight. "I said, give me my book!"

"Hey, relax, sweetcheeks. I'm just pulling your leg. I want to talk. Why don't you have a seat?" Blake pushed the blond back into his chair, finally releasing his wrist to take the chair next to him. "Your coffee's getting cold."

Mark brought a fist up to stifle a guffaw. "Dude, check this out. This book is full of dresses."

"Dresses, huh?" His eyes held Jimmy's as he spoke. Without looking away, he held out his hand. "Hand it over."

A half-hearted lunge for the book was thwarted by a solid shove to the chest. Blake shuffled through the sketchbook carelessly. Pages creased, a couple bent entirely in half, and the sudden sound of tearing paper had the blond wincing. Eyes trained on the book, Jimmy reached very slowly into his pocket and drew out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts, glancing over as often as he dared, until he found the one he was looking for. He sent a text and immediately pressed his thumb to the volume button, bringing the level down to zero.

/Text: to Princess [help]

Blake twisted the book around and stood it up on the table facing Jimmy. "You know, these aren't half bad."

"Thanks," came the bitter retort.

"Oh, you drew these? Funny, I thought fashion was supposed to be a girl thing."

"Well, I'll add that to the growing list of reasons why you're a moron. A lot of designers are men, not that you'd know. Where did you get that shirt? The Salvation Army?" Jimmy sneered. A little voice in the back of his head, left over from his days as a quaking and helpless child, informed him that his attitude was only going to get him bruised, but he ignored it. "Can I have that back now?"

"Hold your horses, pretty boy. I'm not done."

Mark came up behind him and gripped his shoulders tightly. "I like this one, man. He's feisty."

"Too bad he's not a girl," Blake responded idly. "Though, judging by the look of him, I don't think he'd mind that _you're _not a girl."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Curly," Mark leaned down to speak into Jimmy's ear. "But I'm not gay."

"Well, lucky for you, I'm interested in _men_."

The hands on his shoulders tightened painfully. "Are you saying I'm not a man?"

"Oh, I knew you had a brain in there somewhere!"

"Why, you—"

"Settle down." Blake waved a hand in their direction. Mark released Jimmy's coat and stood to the side, shooting death glares. "Besides, Mark…we may have jumped to the wrong conclusions! Looks like pretty boy has some nudes drawn in here."

"Sick, dude! Let me see."

"Hey! Give that back!"

Jimmy clenched his fist around his phone in his pocket to keep his voice down. His fingers just barely brushed the book as it was handed across the table. He watched in horror, cheeks reddening, as Mark flipped the book open and examined the sketches with a low whistle.

"She's hot," he said. "Nice ass."

"Yeah, she's flat as a pancake, though."

"Pass me the pencil, I can fix that."

Jimmy stood abruptly and slammed the sketchbook shut. "Shut up! You don't get to talk about her."

"Aww, that's sweet. She your girl?"

"Something like that," Jimmy mumbled. He made quick work of shoving the book into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, one hand resting on the strap protectively.

"Doesn't surprise me," Blake said, stretching back with his arms over his head. "I bet you like to imagine she's a dude. She's so flat she might as well be a boy."

"Can't I go a single day without hearing about how flat my chest is?"

Three pairs of eyes, two startled and one relieved, looked beyond the café table to the irritated redhead tapping her foot nearby. Sarah stood with her arms crossed, one hip cocked out, and glared. Little puffs of steam traced her exhales in the cold air, and Jimmy couldn't help but imagine a cartoon bull about to charge. The thought brought a smile to his lips, and Sarah looked relieved at the gesture.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Damn." Mark reached across the table to nudge Blake with an elbow. "She's even hotter in person."

"Excuse me?" Her eyes flashed dangerously and it was all Jimmy could do to keep from laughing.

"Hey, honey, why don't you ditch this loser and hang with us? A cute girl like you needs a real man to show her a good time."

She batted her eyelashes, face lighting up with a wide smile. "Oh, really? You'd do that for me? Oh, but…I'm more of a one-guy type of girl, sorry. Mind if I just pick one of you?"

"Sure, sweetheart. We can take turns." Blake winked at her. "Don't worry. We're both pretty manly."

"I'm sure you are," Sarah replied. Jimmy recognized that sweet undertone as something far more sinister than anybody else could pick up on and was forced to press the back of his hand to his mouth to keep from grinning. "But there's really no contest. I only see one _real_ man here."

She stepped toward them, an extra sway thrown into her walk. Her eyes met and held Jimmy's, warning him. Of what, he couldn't tell, but he tensed up, prepared for whatever she had planned. Three quick steps and her hands went to his face, pulling him down into a kiss. He stiffened, and then he let his hands fall to her waist, eyes sliding shut as he accepted her soft lips against his. She took the lead, tilting her head and pressing up on her toes. With a playful nip to the lip, she withdrew, leaving her arms around his neck. She looked over her shoulder at Mark and Blake, standing with their mouths open, and smirked.

"You boys still here?"

Without another word, the pair spun on their heels and hurried away. Sarah released the blond, taking a half-step back, and turned her attention to smoothing the wrinkles from his sweater.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concern creasing her brow. Her hand came up to brush across his cheek as she searched his eyes for confirmation. "Did they hurt you? I'll kick their asses. I can still see them, it's not too late."

It might have been the shaky relief, leftover adrenaline, or the euphoria of an unexpected kiss, but for whatever reason Jimmy couldn't help but laugh. He laughed with abandon, doubled over and clutching at the table for support, with zero regard to what anybody passing by might think. When he could control himself, he straightened and wiped his eyes. He held out his hand, and she took it easily. As the pair started down the sidewalk together, he glanced down at her face, smiled, and gave her fingers a little squeeze.

"I am more than okay, Princess. Sorry you had to come rescue me."

"Hey, no one messes with my Jimmy."

"No." He released her hands to put an arm around her shoulders with a grin. "No, they do not."


End file.
